


true life and not mere sickly potentialities

by for_within_the_hollow_crown



Series: drift back to me (I’ll do the same) [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 22:11:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11262036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_within_the_hollow_crown/pseuds/for_within_the_hollow_crown
Summary: Fitz's fingers curled against her skin, and laughter formed at the back of her throat. There was a sense of elation on both sides, an awareness of not being as constricted as before, and of being in the midst of leaping over boundaries.Out of time and space. The garden party appeared distant and the chattering of people tuned down. All there was, was the two of them then and there. And feeling alone provided a sense of security on both sides, granting them a liberty in exploration of feelings and the awareness that the future made their own ignorance become irrelevant.It was the very beginning, the moment closer to infinite, and it gave them all the time in the world; and even though what they had could run in any possible direction, it was also the mid-point to which everything had run to and would run from.





	true life and not mere sickly potentialities

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd.

 

[Yorkshire 1910]

 

"Now that the time for my presentation at court is almost here, I've got mama to promise me I could look into Oxford," Jemma told Fitz as she lifted a bite of iced cake in front of her and then put it into her mouth.

"Oxford?"

"Yes, Oxford. I've told you Fitz, I'm going to attend university one way or the other. And I assure you that not only will I manage to get in, but I will also have my parents' full permission. No matter how many compromises it takes," she clarified.

Fitz laughed. Not out of malice, rather for the mere hilarity behind Jemma's stubbornness and the dynamics between her and her parents. It wasn't that they didn't love each other, no fondness and affection was beyond clear on both sides, it was that views were at times rather different and, in an attempt not to have their own daughter spoiled rotten and let her go away with everything, then those views would meet on a common ground made solely by compromises. It had always been clear, since a very tender age, that if Jemma Simmons - youngest daughter of Lord and Lady Simmons - wanted to do something, then she'd move heaven and earth to do so and would present her points with such an eloquence and passion that it seemed impossible to say no to her. Exchanged had therefore been the solution: Jemma would ask for something, her parents would ask for something in return, both parties getting their way and talking things out.

She wouldn't make any fuss about the upcoming season, nor would she go to court wearing pants, and they'd give her permission to look into Oxford. One thing for another, an endless cycle of compromises that had been going on for years and didn't seem as if it would stop any time soon. There was something entertaining about it if one saw it from the outside, the development of things holding as much interest and suspense as it could, and even the interested parties couldn't help but smile at the simplest of things. Jemma would say she was a number of compromises away from doing something, her parents would sigh exasperatedly yet still have their way - the relationship with their daughter still intact.

"Not that I ever had any doubts in regards to it," Fitz replied.

"And Tom said he would help me prepare for the test as long as it's not done behind anyone's back," Jemma paused and looked at him, studying the way a strain of hand had fallen on his forehead, a fair comma against his skin, the half raised corners of his mouth, and the crinkles under his eyes. "Is it true that papa offered you a job?"

"Yes, a couple of days ago."

It had been unexpected, really, for Jemma's father hadn't told him directly, but had used Fitz's mother as an intermediate. In the past ten years, during the entire time of him and his mother living at the Simmons' estate, communication had always been free and unrestricted. Fitz himself had always been welcomed upstairs as much downstairs - he was a close friend to both Daisy and Jemma, and an acquaintance of Tom - and even though his mother worked as a housekeeper for the family, boundaries had always been quite blurred and the Fitz looked after in honor of a distant past.

"I won't start tomorrow and I'd have to practice under Mr. Pratt first, but he asked whether I wanted to help in the management of the estate. Help Tom out and all that."

"And will you? Take it? It's just- I never really thought about you staying here forever. All of this," she paused, gesturing herself around so as to point at the abbey in the distance, the gardens, and the people all around them, standing and talking in the ghastly summer heat. "It doesn't really suit you."

"And what would suit me?"

"A cottage somewhere in Perthshire. We've been there for the holidays once, but the memory of it is as fresh in my mind as the day it was made. Nothing fancy, nothing too big, but not secluded either for I know well, and quite well indeed, how much you hate being on your own. So will you stay when there's nothing that keeps you here?"

"I think so. And you're wrong about one thing, there are many things that are keeping me here," he replied. His sentence came out in a rush, each syllable following the other without a break between them, a constant and uninterrupted flow that left him out of breath by the time he got to the end of it.

Tentatively Fitz smiled at her; it was a private smiled, only for her to see, an eased smile, bright yet restricted, that softened his features and lit up his face. Right after, he looked away, his gaze moving to some point over her head as the words lingered in the air between them, weighting down on them and reducing them both to an astonished and flabbergasted silence. The meaning was unclear, but not enough so as to allow them to brush them off as if they were irrelevant and had never been spoken in first place.

"I'm sure of that,"

Jemma took a sip of her tea, gently raising her cup and putting the edge of it next to her lips - a mesmerizing movement, lips parting a little; Fitz couldn't look away, all details standing out with such a neatness as if the simplest and most common action, were foreign to him. With a light tick - the noise of porcelain on porcelain - the cup was back on its plate, and he looked away seconds too late as their gazes met causing Jemma to smile at him teasingly with a hint of the playfulness in her actions and some of the cheek he knew far too well.

There was something different in gestures and words, surely she couldn't be the only one to feel like it. It had been going on for weeks now, but Jemma had always dismissed it as a product of her own imagination; what could there be different than usual? Everything was unchanged, everything stood there unaltered, and all the things she had done with Fitz lately weren't as different from what they had done in the past. And yet, she had been so angry at him for no real reason other than the fact that their time together always seemed to come to an end, leaving her with a bitter taste in her mouth and an overall feeling of dissatisfaction. It felt as if despite all the time spent together the truth was never fully revealed, as if there were unspeakable words on the tip of their tongues that threatened to come out every time one of them opened their mouth.

The lack of revelations, that always seemed preceded by tension building up, was in Jemma's opinion frustrating, quite frustrating indeed. They had sworn to each other to always be honest and open, and yet old promises seemed to fade and come to nothing. No, Fitz couldn't leave until either of them would speak the truth, freeing them both from doubts and wondering minds - the infinite possibilities and explanations in front of them were a field too vast that made them feel lost.

And maybe, perhaps, probably, it all came down to one simple truth that Jemma treasured in her heart and never dared to speak out loud or even think about it, if not in the loneliness of her room: that the boundaries between friendship and love were starting to fade and had been fading for quite some time, the neatness that had once characterized them almost gone in its entirety. It had never happened before and the whole situation had caught her off guard. Fitz of all people, who would have thought? And yet wasn't it like that with love, one could never know until it happened?

And she had, in the past, fancied a couple of boys - of course she had. It wasn't as if her social life was nonexistent, not to mention that her brother had at times brought home fellow Eton students. Not to mention that one summer Milton had happened, which was the same as saying that nothing had happened, for it had taken Jemma an hour to realize that Milton seemed not only not to have any personal opinions, just nodding along as she spoke, but upon the subject women's rights and her desire to one day go to university he had rolled his eyes and sighed exasperatedly - whatever fascination left, it had died that moment. But Fitz was Fitz, everything was different and they had known each other for years - how could she be sure that she really felt something for him that was more than just mere friendship?

"When will you leave for Scotland?" she asked.

"Three or four days before your departure for London, the right date has yet to be decided."

"Oh you must tell me when you know, we can organize something once Daisy is back. A pick-nick, anything really, and I'm sure Tom won't mind chaperoning us."

"I will. It'll be strange not spending the summer here," Fitz paused, his cheeks blushing before he added, "with you."

Jemma looked up again, hardly believing her ears. One hand was still holding the cup, her thumb moving on the fresh and smooth porcelain surface, carelessly tracing its patters; the other was stretched out on the table - the fabric of the cloth soft under her warm palm. With an equal amount of courage and hesitation, she slowly moved her hand towards Fitz's; one inch at the time, little by little, and with such a nonchalance that the gesture - daring and not allowed - appeared as natural and fluent as it could be. Nothing out of the ordinary. Besides, the space between their hands was little and not only were people too engaged in their own conversations to pay attention to them, but as jumpy as they were, they could have retracted their hands as soon as they felt anyone's gaze on them.

Her fingers touched his - tips against tips, closer and back again. It was nothing - feeble and lingering - yet it meant everything. It meant the world and provided more explanations than unspoken words and assumptions ever would; although it still left them with an overall inability to decipher and be sure about everything, their innocence and naivety standing in the way of understanding the reality of things.

Fitz's fingers curled against her skin, and laughter formed at the back of her throat. There was a sense of elation on both sides, an awareness of not being as constricted as before, and of being in the midst of leaping over boundaries.  
  
Out of time and space. The garden party appeared distant and the chattering of people tuned down. All there was, was the two of them then and there. And feeling alone provided a sense of security on both sides, granting them a liberty in exploration of feelings and the awareness that the future made their own ignorance become irrelevant.  
  
It was the very beginning, the moment closer to infinite, and it gave them all the time in the world; and even though what they had could run in any possible direction, this was also the mid-point to which everything had run to and would run from.

"You should have come to London with us. I would have danced with you like always."

He laughed. "I'm sure you'll find someone dashing in no time."

"But will they be able to hold some conversation? It's surprising, really. the things I do for Oxford. But a promise is a promise, and I shan't do anything that would upset mama or papa."

Her hand on Fitz's, sweaty palms touching - sticky skin on sticky skin -, fingers lacing together. Neither of them could think about anything better to say; the conversation, that had already come out in broken and empty sentences, that lacked both the passion and clarity of usual ones, died. Silence filled the space between them once more, as their minds wondered to nothing but their entwined hands and the feelings it provided, feelings that could no longer be blamed on the summer heat.

Fitz and Jemma were both failing in finding the words that could somehow encompass the situation appropriately, describe the volcanoes they felt beneath the polished surface. They knew nothing, not what to say, not what to do, nor for how long it had been going on; but of one thing they were sure of: this was real life and not mere sickly potentialities, they had abandoned behind them the time of the conjunctive, of possibilities. This was something that was happening. And this something could end in any possible way, but was it better to come to regret reality of things rather than its phantasm?

Jemma cleared her throat. "I'll miss your birthday."

"I'll miss your introduction into London society."

"I'd rather celebrate your birthday with you, even if it's just for an hour, than being presented at court. Those sort of things can be terribly boring, depending on the company, and isn't it all just a showing off of daughter and a search for a suitor? But I know something that they don't know."

"Which is?"

"I have no intention in getting married, not before I go to university anyway. But I'll be honest with you Fitz, I don't really care about the season and yet, when it comes, I am entertained and quite well indeed. Of course Daisy being there improves the situation a lot. Oh and she said, though she'll probably tell you herself, that she is going to submit a piece of hers to _The Sketch_."

"The Daniels' paper?"

Jemma nodded.

"Will you see them?"

"The Daniels?"

"Yes."

"I'm not sure. Maybe Will will call in one evening to see Tom, I'm sure mama and papa will insist on having him for dinner at least once. What are you going to do?"

He shrugged. "Nothing exciting. And I think that the only reason for my mother insisting on me leaving for a month is that this way I won't stand in the way while the abbey is cleaned up. But I will enjoy myself, some childhood friends still live in the town and it's always a pleasure to see them again. Jemma, can I write to you? While we are apart."

"I'd jolly well like that."

A drop of sweat on Fitz's forehead rolled down his temple and cheek, providing a ticklish sensation. The heat was becoming unbearable and the entire world appeared to be slowed down and the light of the afternoon sun shone bright and gave the surroundings an unreal and dream like aspect - all soft and faded edges. Jemma's stomach tightened involuntarily as she looked down at Fitz's hand on hers; his thumb was brushing over her knuckles now, slowly moving to her hand's back, gently caressing her freckled skin and tracing the outline of the scar between her thumb and index finger.

"Fitz, I don't suppose-" she started.

"Lady Jemma? His lordship was asking for you."Loud and clear, Fitz's mother's voice interrupted her.

They jumped, hands quickly withdrawn, and looked up. Fitz's mother was standing in front of them and looked down with a neutral expression. Neither of them could even pretend that she had not seen their laced hands, it was hard not to do so at such a close distance, and their sudden and startled reaction was enough to give them away in first place. There was no reasonable explanation, but both Jemma and Fitz felt like they owed one so as to explain, if not explain away what had just happened. Plain and simple, that was the scene that had been present just a moment ago - a leap between boundaries that shouldn't have happened, tingling skin and blushing cheeks. They were no strangers to each other and neither were good liars, Moira Fitz was no fool and would easily see though any explanation.

Jemma stood up, hands on the edges of the table as she pushed her chair back. "Thank you, I will look for him at once. Fitz."

They watched her leave, making her way through the guests until disappearing from their sight. Then Moira looked at Fitz with a piercing and inquisitive look, as Fitz, knowing too well what would follow, did his best not to look away from his mother.

"Be careful, Fitz, or you'll end up with nothing but a broken heart."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied. It was a lie and they both new it, he knew exactly what his mother was talking about: not just the hand holding, but everything else too.

His mother looked at him defiantly, waiting for a different answer. And yet what was there to say? And after her remark wasn't it a little bit odd, if anything, to confide to her that perhaps something was indeed going on? And how could he spill out his feelings to her when he himself wasn't completely sure about them in first place? Many uncertainties and one truth, at some point at the beginning of the year, he had realized that Jemma was to him something more than just a friend and he had thought about telling her ten thousand times in many different ways, yet the words, that in thought appeared simple and natural, were in reality backed up by nothing but doubts. About himself, about Jemma, about everything; it was a long list of what if-s, a game of suppose fueled by the memories of his father's degrading words aimed at him at a very young age. But Jemma had taken his hand, that surely meant something, as did their friendship which was valued and rested upon having the other's best interest at heart.

"Just- don't play with fire Fitz, you're only apt to get hurt."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are appreciated.


End file.
